


Waiting for dusk (it's almost here)

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [6]
Category: Aquaman (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Happy New Year!, M/M, guess who went and watched Aquaman the day before yesterday, self-indulgent AU, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: His half-brother’s assassins catch up with them. Later, when he tells the story, Theron will say it was only a matter of time.





	Waiting for dusk (it's almost here)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year!  
> Guess who went and watched Aquaman the day before yesterday. Yeah.  
> (I really liked that movie, it does have its low points but also high ones. All in all, worth seeing. I recommend 3D and to keep in mind that a lot of it takes place underwater. It kind of slipped by me that that might give me the shivers, seeing as I have a very active imagination and don’t like depths. xD )
> 
> Without further ado! Another silly AU. You’re welcome.  
> Not sure how much I’ll flesh it out, we’ll see.  
> This might be a little confusing if you don’t know what happens in the movie, then again, might not. I’m borrowing heavily and stealing whatever isn’t nailed down (or explained in full) to use it for my own nefarious purposes. 
> 
> Super-short summary of happenings surrounding the story (with few spoilers for Aquaman):
> 
> Basically, Theron is the bastard son of the Queen of Atlantis who ran off on her arranged match and fell in love with a human, before she had to return home to keep her lover and son safe from her husbands retrieval attempts.  
> Right now Theron is on a quest to find the Triton of Atlan because he needs to prove his right to the throne, so he can kick his half-brother off it before he starts a war with the surface. Good times.
> 
> What might be interesting: Going by the Aquaman movie there are (or were) seven kingdoms under the sea. One of these is simply called 'The Lost'. I've taken my own spin on that.  
> Let's just say my Lost aren't so much lost as very deliberately self-misplaced because they don't want to be dealing with those pompous shoal huggers upstairs anyhow.

 

 

His half-brother’s assassins catch up with them before they reach the Trench.

Not that the Trench is _safe,_ it's the worst hellhole this side of the Atlantic (any side of the Atlantic, really), but with the royal Atlantean elite troops on his case Theron will take half-feral sea monsters and thank god or Poseidon, or whoever has jurisdiction here, for their mercy. Especially with Yon at his side. The Trench and the Deep are his _home_. Theron couldn’t find a better guide than one of the Lost.

And by all the seven seas, how come he hasn’t managed to squeeze that pun into a conversation yet? How? He’s _dying_ to. Yon _deserves_ it. ‘I’m from around here’, Theron’s sweet ass, and he believed that load of bullshit until Lana took one look at the guy and almost stabbed him.

Apparently fish-people can look all kinds of weird but Yon’s weird isn’t regular weird. Who knew.

Really, Lana, you can’t expect a man to pick up on things like that. Fishermen, anyone? They make Arielle look positively human and there's a whole kingdom's worth of them.

At least Yon has legs. Scales harder than steel and webbing, sure, but _legs_.

 

 

With the tracker destroyed Theron had hoped they would have a head start. It’s not to be. They barely make it to the unmarked border that draws a line between comparatively peaceful waters and the territory of the Trench.

Yon rolls mid swim in a flash of fins and that is Theron’s only warning. For all master Zho trained him to be as much of a prince of Atlantis as a surface-born boy can be, he’s still out of his element. The twists and turns of underwater combat are mostly alien to him. Darting out of the way in response to a disturbance in the water isn’t _instinct_.

In the blink of an eye they are on him. Theron fends them off, stronger and faster than they could ever hope to be but not nearly as experienced. All of his royal blood can’t make up for the difference.

Or perhaps it’s the time he spent on the surface. It is and always will be home. He realizes too late that they’re herding him _up_.

Up, where he will be without backup.

 _Shit_!

It’s not the only thing they are driving him towards. Theron evades a sword by the skin of his teeth, parries the next strike and… maybe he is his mother’s son after all. Maybe the sea is in his veins, too deep to be denied. He’s so caught up in the fight he ignores what he is turning his back on.

The harpoon breaks the surface and buries itself into his shoulder with so much force he almost loses his borrowed triton, like he lost sight of its owner, then and there.  

 

 

_“Here.”_

_Still reeling from the loss of his mother’s weapon, from fighting his own damned brother, what the hell, and… so, so many things, Theron stares blankly at his new… friend, lets got with friend. He's an optimistic guy._

_Yon makes a sound like a displeased dolphin and pushes the weapon into his hands. It’s a work of art, runes winding from end to deadly end._

_“What? No, I couldn’t-“_

_His companion’s fins, which remind him so much of a cross between betta and lion fish, spread into a flourish edged in bioluminescence and yeah. Theron is starting to recognize offense when he sees it. He can take a hint. Yon’s kind isn’t especially subtle. “Take it, damn you. You’ll need it more than I do.” In sharp contrast to his words he bares his teeth, every last one as needle-sharp as his claws._

_Theron grabs the fricking triton before he gets his fool-ass bitten off. Yon does have a point. Several even, some of them possibly venomous. Jesus._

 

The line attached to the spear draws taunt. Pain explodes through his shoulder. The light-swallowing metal slips from his nerveless fingers and disappears into the depths.

Small mercies that Theron loses all the liquid in his lungs to the acceleration. He breaks the surface flying, lands hard and doesn’t have to waste precious seconds hacking it up before he can breathe again. He doesn’t have a few seconds.

Manta wastes no time dropping his harpoon-gun and coming at him blade first. Theron barely manages to evade.

His shoulder is screaming, his right hand is useless and he’s all alone.

Fuck. What is he even doing? He’s not a king. He’s barely even an Atlantean. All he wanted was to see Atlantis maybe once in his life and… be happy. Help people, maybe. Do something with his life, the way dad says you should.

… and that’s exactly why he can’t give up.

Setting his jaw, Theron reaches for the dart. It doesn’t give under his grip, testament to its Atlantean origin. _Why, thank you baby brother. Thank you so much._

With the courage of those who deliberately do not think of what they’re doing he tears is out before he can change his mind.

It hurts even more than it did going in.

Manta takes that as his cue. He darts forward, knife glinting in the low light of sundown. With gritted teeth Theron parries the blow and uses his enemy’s weapon to his advantage. The harpoon’s wicked, serrated edge catches on the handguard of Manta’s prized blade. A wrench and he loses his grip.

He’s not a much easier opponent unarmed but it’s something.

They trade blows. The boat they’re on is too small for a battle like theirs and threatening to capsize with every disturbance. Manta seems dead set on not letting Theron get back into the water. Smart. If he just got a bit of space he could dive over the railing and be _gone_ -

That is, if his brother’s troops don’t get the better of him. Theron keeps waiting for them to weigh in, more distracted by the possibility than he can afford when he’s busy keeping an expert fighter at bay. The sea around the small vessel churns wildly and yet… Nothing.

He has no idea how he knows what’s coming when it does. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of movement and Theron is ducking before his brain has caught up with his body. The triton clips Manta’s side tearing a wide furrow into his armor.

The wielder of the weapon pays for it immediately. Manta grabs them before they can recover from this _bout of insanity_ and punches them in the sternum with terrible precision.

“No! Yon!”

His depth-bound, light-shy friend spits water and goes flying but not overboard. That would have been too much of a kindness.

He tumbles across the deck, straight into a stack of nets, already choking. Dear god, what was he thinking, coming up here? He hates sunlight so much he refuses to swim in the shallows. He _can’t breathe on land_.

Thoughtless, Theron sets after him. His opponent takes it for the opening it is.

At the last moment he manages to turn his lunge into a roll that derails his trajectory completely. _God damn it!_

Manta steps into his path. Behind him, Theron can just make out how Yon is doing what any fish out of water would in his situation: He’s losing to gravity and a trap made especially to catch and hold him. The more he fights, the worse he tangles himself.

How long can an Atlantean commoner survive without water? Half a minute? Less?

 _Not long._ Theron would know. It’s the most effective way of dispatching his brother’s troops above the surface. For the first time he feels the creeping horror that comes with it. Every combat lesson he has ever had is sliding through his fingers and he _needs them, damn it, he has to do something-_

The boat rocks and his fingers touch metal. _The triton._

In the growing darkness it is almost invisible against waterstained wood.

Atlantean tradition tends toward silver and gold and maybe that is their nature shining through, marking danger with brightness. All of Yon’s flash is his own, bound up in swirling fins and movement too quick to catch. For a weapon he wields the dagger in the night.

Theron looks up, into the oversized eyes of Manta’s ridiculous helmet, and something in his chest settles. He will win. He doesn’t have another choice. He’s not going to let his friend die here.

Die for _him_ , in a place he fears more than anything, a place that will kill him just for attempting to exist in it.

“You know,” Theron drawls, like a moray opening its maw lazily, “what I thought when you begged me to save your dad after shooting all those guys just to steal their ship?”

Manta freezes, the eyes of his helmet glowing ominously. At the other side of the boat, Yon’s struggles are slowing down. Just for that, Theron finds it in him to grin, broad and toothy and as far removed from mirth as an expression could be.

“I thought you were _pathetic_. And you _still are_.”

A guttural sound rends the air. Manta throws himself at him, beyond thought, beyond _reason_ and it is everything Theron could ask for.

He shifts his weight.

_If he had fins to mantle, he would. Deception in a riot of color that’s as much warning as it entices. Inevitably, it catches the eye. Blink and there’s blood in the water._

 

Theron waits until the last moment. The trident comes to his hands like an old friend, as if eager to avenge its master’s injury. It hits Manta underneath the thick plating over his chest. Already weakened the abdominal armor-shell gives way. Theron lets the prongs slide in as deep as they will go, merciless as the sea, before he uses what is left of his opponent’s momentum to lever him up and over the railing.

An almighty splash is all that heralds Manta’s departure. Silence falls.

Silence. Nothing moves but the gentle waves lapping at the boat.

“Oh god. Yon.” Theron drops the bloodied weapon like an afterthought to sprint across the deck and bruises his knees on the landing. “Yon, shit, don’t do this to me, come on!”

Why is he so goddamned clumsy? Why does he have _fingers_? Why can’t his mom have given him pinchers or some shit, something _useful_ , Poseidon’s mercy, _why_? _Who needs to talk to dolphins?_

Yon is still under his hands. It’s so incredibly wrong it sends shivers down Theron’s spine. It’s taking too long, he knows it is, he’s _already too late, isn’t he, fuck. No, no, no, no._

Fighting with the net his friend is hopelessly tied up in the solution comes to him entirely too slowly. _Of course. Damn you Shan, you idiot, just throw the whole damned thing over board, you can get him out after!_

Theron has him half-way off the floor before his overwhelmed brain finally registers something important. Pressed close as they are he can feel Yon’s heart race.

Relief threatens to take the knees out from under him. _Not dead yet, he’s not dead, he’s- wait a damned second._ Slowly, Theron sinks back onto the floor, though his death grip on his friend doesn’t loosen up. _He’s breathing._

Granted, Yon’s breaths come quick and shallow and now that Theron ’s paying attention to it he realizes he’s _shaking_ but… he’s pretty sure a suffocating body doesn’t behave like this. “Yon?”

Pinpricks of pain clue him in to the claws curled into his shirt. His friend’s fins are plastered to his body and he’s a sorrier sight than a seahorse caught in its own harness. When he haltingly lifts his head from Theron’s chest he still manages to dislodge his heart completely. _Oh, thank all currents to ever cross the sea._

Yon is blinking rapidly. His pupils have contracted to slits so fine Theron can barely see them. For someone who has never seen the sun before even dusk has to be blinding, something that’s driven home when he asks, waveringly, “Theron?”

He sounds as if he is gargling gravel but he’s talking. Fuck, he’s _breathing._ So much for Lana’s sermons about the highborn. Looks like the blood of the nobles of the Lost is just as noble as it’s ever been, their own hang-ups with any depth less than a few kilometres under the surface notwithstanding.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me.” Slowly, Theron presses their foreheads together. His next breath is caught halfway between a gasp and a sob. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Going by how he’s clinging to Theron’s shirt when he usually won’t be caught dead showing weakness, Yon scared the shit out of _himself_. Probably still is. _Surface. Right. Sun. Air. Aw, heck._

“Gimme a second, I’ll get you back- do you want me to cut you out of the net first?” He wants to ask ‘you knew, right?’, wants to say ‘please tell me you didn’t think you would die and did it anyway’ but he’s pretty sure he won’t like the answer he’d get if he did.

Yon is so _still_. It’s unnatural.

Night is truly falling now. The sun has sunk out of sight and darkness is dipping the horizon in velvet. After a few moments of quiet Theron realizes his friend isn’t looking at him. He’s looking _up_.

“Theron?”

“Yes?”

“What is that?”

It’s the wonder married to  _terror_ that clues him in, as fragile as any sentiment Yon has ever let him hear. His pupils have started to flare the littlest bit and if Theron’s own nightvision weren’t the kind you get when you’re booking royal grade Atlantean heritage he couldn’t tell the difference. Unless Yon’s eyes reflect light they’re almost pitch black in the dark.

Despite the scare that has chilled him to the bone he can't help but smile. “That's the sky. Don't worry about it, it doesn't do much.”

“Oh,” Yon's voice is whisper-soft. Quietly, as if he'll chase them off, he adds, "And the little lights?"

“Those are stars. Think sun but really far away and tiny."

His companion finally manages to focus on something that isn't the vast nothingness above their heads and stares at him as if he has lost his mind. "Now I know you're having me on. That's cruel, Theron. _Cruel_."

It's moments like these that really remind him of why he is on this whole crazy quest. There are precious things in this world, above the surface and below. Someone should protect them, Theron might as well step up.

Laughingly he shakes his head.  _He won't believe me, will he?_ "You caught me. Come on. Lets get you in the water before you dry out.”

 

 


End file.
